They sat across from one another in the wooden booth in the dark tavern. They had been there for a couple of hours now, drinking and talking, feeling their way through the situation. It was storming outside and the lights flickered off and on in the tavern.
He was tall, dark, and handsome, not traditionally so but by sheer strength of character and control. In a way that made people notice him when he walked in the room, by the way he carried himself. She thought he was sexy as hell. She'd thought it the first time she saw him. That had been months before, in a working meeting.
She'd been there to interview him, as an attorney for the company he worked for. But she had felt like he had learned more about her. Not by the questions he asked but by the way he looked at her. She'd thought about him often since then, thought about the way she felt when under his gaze. He made her feel female; he made every inch of her feel womanly, just by looking at her. She couldn't believe they were sitting there now. She couldn't believe he had wanted to see her.
She had never really considered herself attractive. Men did seem to notice her from time to time but she attributed that to her confident attitude, her smile, and her intelligence. She liked to laugh and have fun. She loved sports. She loved to debate. Men were comfortable around her and that was what she believed led to any of them ever showing a romantic interest.
They told her she was attractive, sure. And she'd never been without a man's attention for any length of time. Men noticed her and not for the reasons she thought they did. They noticed her because she was attractive, beautiful even. She was fairly tall, 5'7", with dark hair and dark eyes. And she was curvy, her breasts were more than a handful and her bottom as well. She had good, strong legs and a narrow waist. Yeah, they noticed her.
But it had been more than a year since she had felt even vaguely attractive. More than a year since her husband had moved out and he had not made her feel attractive for a long time before that. She'd sort of given up the idea of being with a man again. She was a mother now, mostly on her own in the parenting, and she had told herself that was enough.
When she'd heard from him, months after their work meeting, she'd been surprised. He essentially said he'd been thinking of her and hoped she'd let him buy her a drink one night soon. And here they were...
They'd probably had too much to drink at this point. It was dark and late, windy and raining hard. Her home was almost an hour's drive from the tavern. His was considerably closer. There was a pause in the conversation. "Well," he said, "you can either go home or come home." She tried to smile and laugh off his smooth line. "Oh, really?" she said. "And which do you think I ought to do?" He looked her in the eyes and made her stomach flutter. "I think you have been drinking and it is late. The weather stinks and I would worry about you if you tried to drive home," he said.
Normally, the idea of a man worrying about her safety got her hackles up. She took pride in her independence. Pride in her ability to change a flat tire by herself. She had been raised to take care of herself and others, not to be worried about. She had been raised to be in control, strong and self-reliant. Her ex had once told her he thought her father had done her a disservice by raising her so independent. But there was something about the way this man spoke to her, and, if she were honest with herself, the fact that she wanted an excuse to go home with him, so she softened. "Perhaps we should talk about this further outside," she said, trying to sound light and teasing. But inside her stomach was fluttering.
They walked outside. It was still raining hard, much harder than usual for the Pacific Northwest, where the rain usually just drizzled. He walked her to her car door, never touching her. He hadn't touched her yet. God, she wanted him to touch her. They stood beside her door and he told her that the smart thing to do would be for her to follow him home. She agreed, trying not to sound too willing. He made her feel so willing.
She followed down the dark country roads thinking that there was no way she would ever find her way home without help. Maybe this was a stupid thing to do, going home with a man she barely knew, a manager from her client's office at that, in an area she didn't know, in the middle of the night.
He was driving faster than she felt comfortable, not knowing the roads and with the weather as it was. The speed and the cider she'd been drinking all made it even more difficult for her to keep the directions straight in her head. After a while, she gave up and just followed him.
His home was down a long dark unpaved driveway. He motioned her to park up against the house. When she got out of the car, she could hear the river nearby, even with the howling wind and rain. It was raging uncontrollably. That seemed fitting to her, under the circumstances. She followed him inside.
His home was small, warm and tidy. One room, a kitchenette, a separate bathroom. He handed her a drink and motioned her into what he called "the good seat." She sat down and he turned on the radio, taking the other seat. They talked some more. His bed was in the room too, right next to them, this large expanse just waiting there like an open invitation. She felt tense and uncertain. Maybe he had truly just been worried about her safety and didn't have other intentions. The lights went out again... He kept on talking. And then there was a lull in the conversation.
He moved so quickly, it took her breath away. He stood up. Pushed the ottoman in front of him out of the way, took the drink out of her hand, and put it on the table. He got down on his knees in front of her, and started kissing her. Her legs were tucked up under her and, somehow, he moved between her knees, so he was pressing up against her. She could feel him pushing the seam of her jeans up between her legs, pushing against her pussy. She felt an intense wave of passion start down between her legs and roll over her stomach, into the breasts, her throat, her tongue. His tongue. Oh, he kissed her so well. Like he knew exactly how she wanted to be kissed, strongly, moving his tongue against hers. Probing deeper.
She returned the kiss, wanting to encourage him, trying to tell him how badly she wanted this. Almost afraid of how badly she wanted this.
His hands were on her thighs, on her breasts, at the base of her neck, on her back, underneath her, feeling her ass. She didn't know if she could stop them if she tried, if she had wanted to. They were everywhere and it felt so good to be touched. And to be touched by him. But she needed to slow it down, to feel like she had some control over the situation, over herself. She felt his hands under her sweater, pulling her bra down, pushing her breasts over them, so the bra held them up, pointed at him. She'd always thought her breasts weren't a big draw for men. But he was paying attention to them, lightly pinching her nipples, squeezing her breasts. Oh, his hands.
She arched her back a little, pushing her breasts forward into his hands, craving more of his touch. He pulled her sweater off over her head, and kept touching her. Then he broke the kiss and moved his mouth down to her nipples, sucking on them, pulling on them lightly with his teeth.
She could tell she was wet. If she was honest with herself, she had probably started to get wet back at the tavern, the way he looked at her. She wanted him hard inside of her, moving inside of her. He was grinding against her, pushing himself against her clit and her pussy. He had long legs and, even with his knees on the floor, he was somehow leaning on top of her, pushing his hardness in between her legs. She could feel him through his jeans and hers. He felt huge.
She craved the taste of him. She wanted to feel that hard cock in her mouth, in the back of her throat. She moaned and realized she'd probably been moaning since his lips first touched hers. She wanted him so badly. She needed this to slow down. She was getting carried away by her passion, by his tongue, by his hands... She took a deep breath and tried to calm her heartbeat.
"I need these jeans off of you," he said, unbuckling her belt, and unzipping her jeans. She grabbed his hands and held them. "Slow down, please," she said. She said the words to him but she felt like she was begging her own body to slow itself down. It had been so long since she had been touched and even longer since she had felt desire like this. She needed to reassert her self-control. "Please." He took his hands away, and put them behind her head, in her hair, kissing her again. Oh, that tongue. The things she wanted him to do with that tongue.
She broke away from the kiss. "Well," she said, "I am not wearing underwear so if these come off, I will have nothing to protect me. So unless you are going to loan me a pair of your boxers..."
He stood up, looking down at her in the chair. She had no sweater on, her breasts still up on top of her bra, her nipples hard, large and dark. Her legs were still spread to make space for him between them. She felt childish asking for something to wear, like a schoolgirl, like a virgin. But she needed something between her pussy and him. She wanted out of her jeans but needed something physically between him and her own passion, her own desire. She was excruciatingly aware of his bed, right next to her.
He strode over to his dresser, yanked out a drawer, and pulled out a pair of boxer briefs and a t-shirt. The briefs had a Superman emblem right across the front. She smiled. And then she worried that her ass would be too big for them, briefs being tighter than the boxers she had expected him to wear. She stood up, trying to look confident, took the clothes from him, gathered it all up against her chest and asked to use the bathroom.
Once there, she looked at herself in the mirror. "What are you doing, Lizzie?" she whispered to herself, pulling off her jeans and putting on his briefs. They fit, but snugly. They weren't going to hide her shape, that's for sure. She could only hope he didn't mind women with some meat on their bones. She told herself he had already felt her and didn't seem put off.
"Get ahold of yourself. You aren't going to have sex with him anyway. You're not ready for that. You're not ready to let someone inside you or to lose your self-control."
She pulled on the t-shirt and took a few more deep breaths, trying to slow down her heartbeat. She looked at herself in the dark mirror again, tried to make some sense of her hair with just her fingers, thanking God the lights hadn't gone back on yet. At that moment, they did. She heard him say something but couldn't quite tell what.
She opened the door. Mark was standing at the kitchenette. He had turned off most of the lights, leaving on just the one by the bed. He handed her a glass of something. "Whiskey," he told her. "Thank you," she said, thinking that more alcohol was probably the last thing she needed if she wanted to stay in control of herself.
She took a sip, a larger one than she intended. She started talking about something inane, trying to break the tension. He took the glass out of her hand, then took her hand and pulled her gently over to his bed. She kept talking, asking him questions, silly nothings that kept her from being too intensely present for what was going on. He lay her down and then lay down next to her, alongside of her.
"For the love of God," he groaned, "stop talking." He put a hand up to her face and pulled her close for a kiss. She felt her hands go to the back of his head as she pulled him on top of her. His knee moved between her legs and she spread them for him, again. This time, she didn't have the thick material of her jeans to protect her, just the thin boxer briefs. She could feel her clit rubbing on his thigh. She wondered if he could feel how hot she was for him, if he could feel the heat from her pussy through his jeans. "How could he not?" she thought, and heard herself moan again.
His hands were under the t-shirt now, pulling it off over her head again. She felt silly for having put it on in the first place. He kissed her breasts again, pulling on one nipple and then the other. And then she felt his hand between her legs, his fingers touching her through the thin cotton of the briefs. She could feel her own wetness and knew he could feel the same, through the material. The briefs completely wet too by now. He rubbed her there for a few minutes while he continued to kiss her nipples, and her neck and her mouth. She held his head close to her, not wanting him to pull away, wanting to keep his mouth on her body.
He stood up suddenly and pulled off his shirt and then dropped his jeans. She could make out the outline of his cock in the dim light, still in his underwear. It was as big as she had thought it would be, having felt it rubbing up against her. "I want that," she thought, "all of it." He lay down against her again and started kissing her, his hand pulling at the boxer briefs she was wearing, pulling them down around her thighs. And then they were off completely. His fingers were on her pussy, moving around in her wetness. She felt him put a finger into her and a wave of pleasure surged over her again. He moved it in and out a couple of times, slowly. His other fingers were brushing up against her clit. If he kept this up for long, she knew she wouldn't be able to control her desire.
She rolled over on top of him, kneeled, and started taking down his own briefs. She started kissing his chest and his neck, down his stomach. "The best defense is an offense," she thought, smiling to herself. She got to just below his belly button when he rolled her back over, so that he was again on top.
He started kissing down her neck, her breasts, and her stomach. She felt his mouth on her, kissing her mound, licking her clit, licking her pussy. She put her hands behind his head and pulled his mouth tighter into her.
She knew it would feel like this. She held him
there, between her thighs, wanting his tongue inside of her. And then she wiggled away. It was too much for her, too soon. If she let him continue, she knew she would then want his cock inside her and be unable to control her desire for it, unable to keep him from fucking her, if that's what he wanted. She knew that if she came, she'd only want him inside her that much more. If she came with him, she'd be unable to deny her desire to have him use her body however he saw fit. She wanted him too much already and she just couldn't let go of herself yet.
He was back again, kissing her mouth. His hand on her breast. His knee spreading her legs again, rubbing up against her pussy. She moaned. And then she felt the head of his cock, pushing at her pussy. He was just waiting there, searching for some sign from her to move. She felt her willpower giving way. She wanted him to fuck her. She wanted to moan for him and wrap her legs around him and pull his cock deep inside her. She wanted him to take her in any way he wanted. She wanted to give herself to him...
And then he was there, in her, hard and huge. She was so wet and so tight. It had been so long. He filled her up and it felt so good. He pulled out and pushed himself in again. She moaned and then, suddenly, realized she'd let her guard down. She had let him in. She pulled away, moving upward so that his cock came back out.
She pushed her knees closed and held him close to her. "I'm not ready, Mark," she said. "I can't. It's just too much for me right now." She wanted to cry. She felt like a child again. Her body wanted him so badly. More than her body. But she couldn't make sense of it. Not tonight, not like this. He stopped moving, and put his arms around her and held her close, her head against his chest.
She rolled him over again, feeling in control once she was on top of him again. Again she started kissing her way down him, down to his cock. She wanted this to be good for him, wanted him to know how much she wanted to please him. She kissed the end of his cock and then wrapped her hand around it, pulling it towards her mouth, holding her hand tight around his shaft. She put the head into her mouth, and pulled him into her, towards the back of her throat. She could taste herself on him, taste her own juices on his hard cock. He moaned, "Oh yeah, oh God, that feels good, Elizabeth, don't stop."
She slowly began to move her head up and down, sucking on him, moving her tongue against the head as she did, moving her hand up and down as his cock got wetter from her mouth. She pulled him in and let him feel his cock on the back of her throat. He groaned and she held him there. Then she slowly pulled him back out. She started licking his balls, moving her tongue around them, making eye contact with him. He was watching her closely. God, she loved the way he looked at her, like he was devouring her.
She moved back up and put his entire cock into her mouth again. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His hand moved to the back of her head, into her hair. She sucked on him, moving her hand with her mouth so that he could feel the tightness all the way up his cock no matter how much was in her mouth at the time. The wetness of her mouth made moving her hand over him smooth. She started moving her head a little faster, up and down, sucking on him. She wanted to taste his cum. She wanted to suck it out of him, into her mouth. She stopped and held him against the back of her throat again. She could feel how hard he was, feel his huge cock fill her entire mouth. She moved up and down, and again held him against the back of her throat, gagging involuntarily, but loving the way it felt to have him inside her.
"God, yes," he groaned. "God, you're good at that. Yeah, take it all in your hot little mouth." He grabbed the back of her head harder, pushing his cock further into her throat. She gagged again and he let up a little.
She was stunned at the way he'd spoken to her. And even more stunned at how hot it made her, how wet. She wanted his cum, wanted to know what he tasted like, wanted to feel him cum against the back of her throat. She moved up and down, feeling her own desire building between her legs, feeling how wet she was getting at the thought of his cum in her mouth, down her throat, at the thought of swallowing for him.
He was getting close, she could tell by the way he was breathing and the way his cock started moving. She kept going, wanting this so badly. Almost as badly as she wanted him to fuck her. She kept moving on him, until she felt him start cumming, then his hand grasped her hair even tighter and he pushed his way deep into her mouth and held himself again hard at the back of her throat.
It felt so good, tasted so good, wave after wave against her throat. She waited and then, when he lightened his grip when he was done, she swallowed all of it. She then slowly moved her mouth off of his cock, and looked up at him again.
He was watching her, looking at her through half-closed eyes. He smiled and pulled her up towards him, holding her. "I knew you'd be good at that. You're too fucking sexy not to be," he said. "Sexy little slut, aren't you?"
She stilled herself, shocked. Nobody had ever spoken to her like that before; no man had ever called her a slut. She knew she should be offended, she should call him out on it. She should stand up and leave. But she didn't because she also knew it was maybe the sexiest she'd ever felt.
He smiled at her then, because he knew. He knew the thoughts that had just gone through her head, the angst and the excitement, the conflict. "Oh yeah, you like that, don't you? You like being a little slut, an eager little cocksucker. You like how it feels to throw all that professionalism and self-respect away and just be a nasty little slut for me? That's right, that's exactly what you are and what you're going to be, my little slut."